


Dear Nameless Stranger

by Jeannie Peneaux (JeanniePeneaux)



Series: Letters from Grending [1]
Category: Daddy-Long-Legs - Jean Webster, Pride and Prejudice & Related Fandoms, Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Genre: Epistolary, F/M, Family, Orphans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-09
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-08-21 01:49:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 16,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16567292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JeanniePeneaux/pseuds/Jeannie%20Peneaux
Summary: Tragedy has struck the Bennet sisters, but the anonymous kindness of a stranger means that they can remain together.In exchange for such charity, a letter a month is required from each of them. It is a fortunate thing that Miss Elizabeth Bennet rather likes letter writing.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to run the risk of sounding conceited, but I really like this one. It is fully written and I hope to post it all between now and Christmas. It borrows the premise and format of the marvellous Jean Webster. Being English, I did not discover her until I was in my twenties because clearly our school library was dreadfully lacking! 
> 
> I have callously disposed of both Bennet Parents for my own plot convenience but in spite of that, it is a cheerful sort of story, I believe. 
> 
> I'm posting the Prologue and the first letter today, just to get things going. All mistakes are mine. :) Enjoy!

Prologue  
  
“Miss Elizabeth?” The housekeeper tapped firmly on the door that led to Miss Bennet’s chamber. She was sure to knock loud enough, the young ladies of the house were easily distracted these days. It was not as it was in the old days when she had to knock loudly enough to be heard over the constant noise that five, lively, young ladies seemed to make. It was far, far too silent now. Many were the times in the past week or so that she had entered a room and found one of them quietly sat and staring off into the distance. Even Miss Lydia, who was not given to dreaming, had been made to start through not having heard Hill announce herself. It was understandable, given the circumstances. They were all fine girls but they had much to worry them now.  
  
“Yes, Hill-- what is it?” The second eldest, Miss Lizzy, laid down the needlework on the stool beside her. She was still lovely, for all that she was dressed entirely in black. Her dark hair, which had been simply dressed, was a shade or two lighter than the mourning clothes that so accentuated her pallor. A mere month ago, she had been a laughing, carefree creature and so pleasant to anyone she spoke to that it was a balm to the soul to even be in the same room as her. Always laughing, she was. Not now, though.  
  
“Miss Bennet has asked you to come to the library, Miss; a letter has come.” The girl nodded. She was twenty years old but to Hill, she would always be a girl-- the housekeeper could not shake off the memory of seeing her toddle about the house, Miss Jane on the one side of her and a ragdoll clutched in a tiny fist. All big eyes and dark curls and a giggle that was impossible not to grin at.    
  
“I will go down now, are all of my sisters to assemble?”  
  
“Aye Miss, Sarah fetched Miss Mary from the churchyard and I already sent Miss Kitty and Miss Lydia on down.”  
  
Hill watched as Miss Elizabeth squared her shoulders slightly and raised her chin. The dear girl couldn’t know how easily read she was, how evident her distaste for the bookroom was of recent, she had, after all, haunted the place until last month.  
  
“Thank you, Hill.”  
  
Such a sweet, polite young lady. Hill dabbed at her eyes as she bustled along the passage to return to the kitchen, she would miss them sorely when they left.  
  
Elizabeth, chin still raised and her face frozen into as neutral an expression as she could manage, did not trouble herself to knock before entering her father’s study. There was little point now, after all. Her sisters were sat about the room awaiting her arrival and Jane was sat in the chair at the desk. She, of all her sisters, wore her distress the most clearly. Her face, however beautiful, was gaunt and shadowed beneath the eyes. Elizabeth knew it was not merely grief that put those lines there-- but worry.  
  
“Oh Lizzy,” the eldest Miss Bennet sounded tired, “Hill found you then, good.”  
  
“Yes, I was mending the tear in my dress...I was in my room. What news, sister? I suppose the attorneys have written?”  
  
“I assume so-- although it does not seem to be from Mr. Lippet, Papa’s attorney.”  
  
“Perhaps Papa and Mama managed to hide away a fortune, without any of us knowing of it,” suggested Kitty, who was prone to flights of fancy at the most inconvenient times.  
  
“I do not think it,” said Jane Bennet, gently, anxious that her sister not build up any such hopes, only to have them cruelly dashed. She knew, all too well, the pain of disappointment and would not have any of her dear family suffer the same.  
  
Lydia was less gentle. “Don’t be a fool, Kitty,” she snapped, before turning to her eldest sibling, “well, let us get on with it then. It cannot be good, whatever is in it, so let us not wait for the final blow. We all of us know our fate, Mama bemoaned it often enough so just…”  
  
Jane, wincing a little, both at the honesty and at the mention of her mother, carefully slid the silver letter opener behind the wax seal. She had seen her Papa use the little knife-like instrument often enough and had never thought to ask its history. Had it been in the Bennet family for generations? She would never know now.  
  
Jane read the letter and her fingers trembled.  
  
“Oh, Lizzy! Do come and read it, I can hardly make any sense of it--it seems impossible. Perhaps I have not read it correctly.”  
  
Elizabeth rose from her seat at the window and crossed the room with a steady, quiet step. Crisply, she plucked the letter from her sister’s white hand and spread it out before her. She read well aloud, having entertained her family often enough in such a fashion of an evening. In a clear, steady voice, she read:  
  
_To the Misses Bennet,_

 _Please accept our sincere condolences on the loss of your parents._  
_  
_     _My client, who is desirous of remaining entirely anonymous, has instructed me to make available to you an annuity of five hundred pounds per annum to be shared equally between you all, under the management of Miss Jane Bennet, for so long as such funds are required for your comfort._

 _Furthermore, Grending Cottage, situated in the town of Meryton, Hertfordshire has been made ready for your arrival; it being in possession of Four Bedchambers and Three receiving rooms in addition to necessary housing and kitchens for staff. For sake of respectability, a companion by the name of Mrs. Ingles has been engaged for the duration of six years being until the youngest Miss Bennet attains her majority or until the last remaining Miss Bennet shall be wed._ __  
__  
_My Client, in exchange for such patronage, is wishful to be in receipt of a monthly letter from each Miss Bennet, to be written in her leisure time of a Sunday afternoon. Letters may be as brief or lengthy as is desired but are to be sent promptly on the first Monday morning of a month in a single parcel to the address given below. My client, who may be addressed merely as ‘Sir’ does not wish for the letters to be used to express thanks or gratitude but intends for them to contain general accounts of any learning or subjects of interest that may arise throughout the course of the time between letters._ __  
__  
_Any enquiries are to be made strictly to myself,_ __  
__  
_Ignatius Z. Briggleswick._ __  
  
“That,” said Lydia, breaking the silence that had fallen when Elizabeth had finished reading, “cannot possibly be his real name.”  
  
Jane ignored her, “Elizabeth, do you comprehend this as I comprehend it? We...we can stay together? We shan’t need to be separated, nor to go into service?” Her sweet voice shook as she spoke.  
  
Mary wrinkled her brow, “Should we accept charity from a stranger? He might be anyone, after all.”  
  
It was Kitty’s turn to roll her eyes and she answered with unusual sense, “I don’t think we have any choice in the matter, Mary-- I for one should much rather stay in Meryton, with my sisters, than be sent to whichever of our relations might be willing to take us in. Is it enough? _Can_ we manage to live on such a sum?”  
  
Elizabeth nodded, “Yes, easily enough. Oh, we shan’t have endless money to spend on fripperies or a new dress every quarter but we can eat, employ a few maids and a cook and retain our respectability. Mrs…” she glanced at the letter, “Mrs. Ingles will lend us countenance and Grending Cottage is the old Rectory you know, it was sold when Reverend Grending and his wife had their tenth child and had to build a larger house. There used to be a very pretty rose garden there, I think.”  
  
Jane looked at Elizabeth, her eyes shining. “Oh Lizzy! Oh my dear sisters, to think how I have grieved and fretted that we should be parted from each other! When Mr. Collins wrote his...his _dreadfully_ unkind letter, I have been so afraid since then. Perhaps...perhaps our patron is a lonely gentleman who has heard of our great misfortune and wishes to show Christian kindness. A letter each month is such a little thing to ask for...let us...let us vow that we will repay such generosity with the very best letters we are able to write and whenever Mrs. Ingles arrives, we will greet her with as much kindness as we have been shown.”  
  
Elizabeth nodded, almost absently, her mind was working furiously and her eyes were fixed on the uniformly even writing on the page.  
  
“Hmmm?...Yes, yes, of course, you are right, Jane. _Ignatius_ _Briggleswick,_ what a dreadful name for a child to be saddled with, for if he is indeed a real person, he must have been a child once, he cannot always have been a legal man, after all.” She shook her head as though to clear it of such irrelevant thoughts, “I suppose we had better pack our things up and have them carted to Grending Cottage, had we not?”  
  
The ladies all nodded and exited the bookroom, Lizzy was left alone in it for the first time since her Father had begun to feel decidedly ill and retired to his bed, never to rise from it again. She looked above the fireplace and met her own gaze in the mirror. For a moment in her reflection, she saw a glimpse of her mother but she frowned and the likeness was gone again.  
  
Elizabeth pursed her lips and looked down once more at the letter in her hand, “desirous of remaining entirely anonymous...I cannot think of anything more provoking!”


	2. June

9th June 

  
Dear Entirely Anonymous Sir,   
  
I have been told, by your secretary, whom I have never met but believe to be a very pompous gentleman with a large nose; that I must write to my noble benefactor each and every month without fail.     
  
This proves very little hardship for me, I have long enjoyed letter writing but I do think you might come to regret such a requirement from my sisters. Dearest Jane will be in agonies throughout  Sunday morning service that she will not write exactly what you want to read, Mary will give you a very edifying account of the morning sermon and my youngest sisters will very likely detail each and every hat that they have seen since last Monday. I do trust, dear sir, that you are fond of bonnets.    
  
The letter from Mr. Briggleswick (is that indeed his name? He sounds like a villain from a gothic novel) also stated that you do not wish to be told of any gratitude we Bennet orphans may feel with regards to your kindness.   
  
Please admire my docile and obedient nature. I will not thank you for providing us with a home, nor will I even breathe a word of gratitude for your provision of such funds as will feed us each quarter...I will not even write such platitudes as ‘you are very good’ given that you have also provided us with respectability in the form of Mrs. Ingles. There, I am quite done now with  _ not _ expressing my gratitude--I should not at all wish to prove tiresome.   
  
I wonder if you have ever seen Grending Cottage? It used to belong to the parish but the Reverend and his wife were rather well blessed with the number of children they had and so it was sold when they moved themselves and their  _ ten _ children into a new Vicarage. It is a charming little house, Mrs. Grending, I know not how, learnt that we were to come here and said that she had been very fond of the place. The rooms are light and well enough proportioned for six ladies to not feel dreadfully squashed. The enormously heavy front door has been painted recently and is now a delightful shade of green instead of the rather shabby black that it used to be. I am glad of that, there is quite enough black in our wardrobes without our home being drab too. Jane and I took on the business of furnishing the place you know, for aside from a table, a long bench and a very ugly bureau that can neither be opened nor moved, there was not much here. We think that the old thing has been nailed to the floor and so it must remain where it is. We shall find a use for it, in spite of not being able to get into it, perhaps it will make a convenient shelf for our prayer books before we leave for the church of a Sunday morning, it is puritan enough in its appearance that it must surely sober our minds quite suitably. Having never bought furniture for a house before we found it a rather interesting exercise. Lydia and Kitty were sent off to buy fabric for bedlinen--most of ours was left at Longbourn, and Mary was tasked with the purchase of curtains for Mrs. Ingles’ room, she graciously made do with a blanket strung up the first night she came-- for not one of us had thought of such things.    
  
25th June

 Jane and I are convinced that we are quite the most skilled of shoppers for we chanced upon Widow Pendleton’s son at the market and he has been trying for these last three weeks to sell his late Mama’s house contents. Thus we returned victorious to Grending, followed by a large cart laden with four bedsteads, six cabinets, ten chairs and a small settee. I will not tell you what such bounty cost us, sir, but I am convinced that we had a prodigious bargain. All we need now is an easy chair or two and we shall be so cosy and comfortable that I do not even think that the Prince Regent himself would disdain to call on us.    
  
Mrs. Ingles is a marvellous creature, Lydia and Kitty are not so docile as I am you know and yet she seems to have them under excellent regulation even after a mere two weeks. They are perhaps, still deeply grieved by our parents passing (as are we all) which may explain part of it, but I cannot help feeling that there is some genius about her that makes them pay her heed. I wonder if you can have met her? She was quizzed very thoroughly by all of us upon her arrival but either could not or  _ would _ not reveal a single thing about you. Her discretion is commendable. I must say, even Lydia, who is afraid of nothing, admitted dismay when Mrs. Ingles descended from the carriage upon our doorstep. She looks such a severe and forbidding woman, I think her eyebrows are largely to blame but it did not take us very long at all to realise that there is a great kindness in her.    
  
I cannot tell you, sir, how we felt that afternoon when Mr. Briggleswick’s letter arrived for us. Our cousin, as is his legal right, had no intention of being saddled with five spinsters (you ought to have seen Lydia’s face when his letter referred to her as such--she is not yet even seventeen!) to house and feed and we had been in a quandary about what must be done. Jane, the dearest, the most wonderful lady in all the world, suggested that she might have to go into service as a governess-- the younger girls might have gone to our Aunt and Uncle in London but we none of us were ready to be parted from each other. When Jane opened the note she could barely speak, so great was her shock and thus it was left to me to read it aloud for us.    
  
It is the oddest thing, sir, that as blessed as we were when our parents were alive, it took the kindness of a stranger to make us aware of how fortunate we are, even now. We were rescued (forgive the dramatic term, it seemed so apt to us) from relative poverty and brought back into the realms of gentility through your generous nature. Know sir, that there are five females indebted to you and that, whatever our sorrows, no matter our grief, we will give fervent thanks to God for you tonight.    
  
I am, Beneficent Stranger,    
  
Elizabeth Bennet.   
  


 


	3. July

 

3rd July

  
Dear Sir-Nameless-Gentleman-who-likes-to-rescue-unknown females,   
  
There has been some lively discussion amongst us of an evening (do not be shocked, for although we are yet in blacks we cannot always be sombre and grave) regarding your name. Jane has suggested that we refer to you simply as our guardian, Mary believes that you ought to be termed ‘the good Samaritan’, Kitty has suggested Mr. Smith (for which unoriginality she was soundly rebuked) and Lydia has decided that you are a very grand personage indeed and should henceforth be known as His Grace.    
  
I have reserved judgement. I cannot at all make up my mind without some sort of information about you. I once attempted to name a kitten in my youth, a smokey grey, blue-eyed little thing and took so very long in trying to find out the perfect form of address for it that Lydia had called it “Lady Cat” in the meantime and the thing stuck. I would not have minded so much except that kitten was male. In later years it has proved to be a source of great amusement to me when I have happened to encounter a Lady Catherine on my travels.    
  
In short sir, I cannot name you without knowing anything of your age or appearance. If you are a very ancient and venerable gentleman, I must side with Jane, you have taken on the role of our guardian after all. Yet, if you are a much younger benefactor, I cannot at all think it proper to do so. If you will provide us with some sort of a sketch, or even a general description we should be much obliged. You are so often spoken of, being such a great mystery, and if we could agree on a fitting form of address, it would make our conversations so much more straightforward.   
  
I shall leave my sisters to detail the events of the weeks in Meryton but should they be remiss, let it be known that we are now quite settled into the cottage, Jane and I have elected to share a room together, while the younger girls take up the larger one at the back of the house. Mrs. Ingles has her own bedchamber and sitting room, of course. Jane and I are congratulating ourselves on our good sense, for come winter I think we shall each be very glad of the other for warmth on a cold night!     
  
It is oppressively hot and humid in Meryton at present and we have thrown open every window in the cottage with the hopes of creating a draught throughout, Mrs. Ingles suggested to us that we ought not to suffer to eat indoors and instead urged us to take a picnic to the garden. To look at her, you would not at all thing she was even capable of suggesting such a thing-- she really is the most marvellous of chaperones sir, quite frightening enough to scare off the three young men who attempted to catch Janes attention over the garden wall yesterday, yet sweet and interesting enough that we do not feel resentful of her in the least. We have eaten outside every day this past week and it has been marvellous. I fear that Lydia and I are quite brown on our noses but the redeeming benefit of being forcibly removed from society is that it doesn’t matter a jot. We arranged our blankets at the foot of a stone bench in the garden and lazed around in a way that we have not done since we were children. Jane and Mrs. Ingles are far more dignified creatures than us younger ladies and sat sedately on the bench whilst the rest of us lounged on our stomachs and wove garlands of daisies for crowns. We took them off, of course, before anyone could see us but oh how pleasant it was to forget, for a little while, that we are orphans. 

  
11th July

  
The Collinses have now moved, in great state, to Longbourn, we have not called on them, nor they on us. Mrs. Collins has been an old friend to me since we were girls, I feel all the awkwardness of seeing her again in such circumstances. I fear that it will be some time before we are quite easy. Her father and mother, Sir William and Lady Lucas, sent round servants to help us move our trunks into Grending Cottage but did not come themselves. Jane, who sees the good in all men and is ever a shining example to me, says that they were being thoughtful in staying away--seeing as we were still so mired in our grief.    
  
I do not know that I agree with her, there is some cynical part of me that fears the world is not so perfect as she would believe it to be. I shall once again reserve any judgement, I have, after all, proven myself a very bad judge of character in the past. Mayhap Sir William and Her Ladyship were not distancing themselves deliberately after all. I find that more recently in my life I have begun to doubt that which I have been most sure of in my twenty years of experience, my own judgement. It seems sir, that I have been taught a hard lesson in questioning my first impressions. Take, for example, two gentlemen, who shall be as nameless as you. Both of good upbringing, both intelligent and well educated...the one I believed to be guilty of dishonourable things on account of my own pride having been wounded and the other I thought to be everything that was good-- merely because he flattered me. Truly, I am a vain, empty-headed creature. It turned out that the one gentleman had all the goodness and the other all the appearance of it. It has been terribly lowering for me, to have been shown my error thus.   
  
I shall, however, end in the hope that such lessons are well worth the learning while I am yet young. I am still some three months off from attaining my majority so perhaps by the time I reach  _ official _ adulthood, I will feel much more able to put off my girlhood mistakes. I wonder sir, if, by the time I am old, with a dozen grandchildren and a handsome, silver-haired husband, I will be quite the most virtuous character imaginable.   
  
Yours, desirous of self-improvement,   
  
Elizabeth Bennet.

 

 


	4. August

2nd August 

 

Dear Sir,    
  
It is now our third month in Grending Cottage and I do think that we are settling rather well, it is beginning to feel very much like home. Cushions are tumbled and we are forever leaving books or ribbons lying about the place. Mrs. Ingles has insisted upon a reading schedule for Lydia and Kitty and has ordered me out of the house each morning with Mary for a long muddy walk. I cannot praise such perception enough, even if she did not  _ specify _ that we ought to trudge through dirt!    
  
I think too, that my younger sisters are coming to terms with their very great sorrow regarding Mama and Papa. Lydia no longer creeps into our room at night to slip in with us after dreadful dreams and Kitty and Mary are less prone to sobbing over sudden memories. In the early days, while we were yet at Longbourn, before Mr. Collins’ letter, I mean, everything was painful. The clock that stood in the hallway that was always five minutes fast for example. Papa had deliberately altered it so that the females in his life actually got to Church on time. The first time that it chimed the hour correctly, Mary noticed first and we each of us gathered in a tight little circle and sobbed. It is not so hard now, I do not think. Slowly but surely, we are finding that memories can raise a smile rather than just aching; like a day old bruise that one accidentally prods too hard.   
  
I have found my own way back to books again, although I wonder if my tastes have permanently altered. I cannot even look at poetry at present, it either makes me impatient or maudlin. Papa was used to offer me a Greek text to translate when I found myself having a fit of the doldrums at Longbourn--I never accepted the offer, I found nothing to admire in Homer, but I have been enjoying Hamlet of recent. I have certain sympathies with a hero that is heavy with the expectations of a ghostly parent.    


Having reread that last paragraph, I feel I ought to clarify somewhat. No, I have not been visited by the apparitions of my departed parents-- such a thought sends chills down my spine! I meant rather, that all of us Bennet sisters were aware of what was required of us when we were grown women and I at least am aware of my own failures in that regard. Had I a husband (If you can believe it, I was offered for more than once,  _ three _ if you care to count John Goulding when we were both six) my sisters and I would not be dependent upon the charity of yourself nor would we be subject to the excruciating pity of our neighbours.    
  
Reality is a difficult master to learn from, I fear.    
  
I must not dwell on what cannot be changed, I shall permit my pen to now write of happier things. I took Mary to the very top of Oakham Mount this morning, it was early enough that the sky was still streaked with pink on our ascent-- the lark sang for us to celebrate the beauty of the day and my sister was forced to admit that she was glad to have come. Joy can be found, I am discovering, even when all about us seems grey and hopeless.    
  


 

21st August

We encountered Mr. Collins (our cousin, who is now the Master of Longbourn) when we all walked out to visit our Aunt Phillips, he was clearly startled by the sight of us (looking like a murder of crows, little doubt) and was decidedly unsure how to act. Jane, being Jane, attempted to be kind but I do not know that it answered for then he looked even iller at ease. I asked after his wife and he would not respond to me. I cannot think why, for he spoke readily enough when I visited them in Hunsford. Kitty has decided that Mrs. Collins is being haunted by Mama for daring to take her place as the Mistress of Longbourn. Mrs. Ingles quietly reproved her but I must say that the thought of it amused me excessively. I can imagine Mama walking familiar hallways at night and shrieking eerily at the new inhabitants for daring to use her favourite china set with the incorrect silverware.

I wandered my way into the haberdashers yesterday and overheard an amusing exchange that I shall relate for your entertainment. Imagine, if you will, a man and his wife, fairly young, certainly in their early twenties, perusing Mr. Dowling’s selection of velvet. I could not readily state whether they were looking for her benefit or for his, for he was far more elaborately attired than she. I shall not burden you with a very detailed description but suffice it to say I first noticed the pair of them on account of the extreme contrast between the gentleman's waist and shoulders. I do not think it was entirely natural for there was the distinct sound of creaking corsets whenever he moved. Have I shocked you? I shall forge onward with my tale in an attempt to redeem myself. In the lady there was a certain quakerish charm in her dress that I thought very elegant.

But I digress, perhaps you think Lydia has taken up my pen for this past paragraph with such descriptions of finery.

The gentleman did not speak sensibly at all, rather he drawled every word he spoke, I wished I could interrupt them and make him see how ridiculous he sounded but I refrained with great strength of character.

I heard him say to the young lady that he was quite convinced of the superiority of the mustard velvet over the blue and when she gently disagreed (she was correct) he said, or rather drawled, “I do not understand you women one little bit…” and then, with an attempt at charm, “the way your minds work is beyond anything I can comprehend.”

I thought to myself that rather a good deal must be beyond his comprehension and listened as the lady tried to interject, “but if you would just liste--”

“So-ooo myst-eer-ious,” interrupted the fellow.

I laughed quietly to myself even as I was infuriated on her behalf. Such a pompous man would be far less amusing if one was forced to endure his company constantly. Poor lady!

I hope you do not object, for I gather that the cottage we are living in is rented by you, I should very much like to see if much can be done with the garden. Jane and Kitty have been missing the still room at Longbourn and I had thought that perhaps I may be able to grow some lavender for them. I wondered if I might challenge myself to create something beautiful and useful at the same time. Should you prefer the garden left well alone, do have Mr. Briggleswick write me a stern letter, “ _ Miss Elizabeth Bennet will refrain from interfering in matters which do not concern her _ ,” or “ _ Miss Elizabeth Bennet ought to conduct herself like a lady and attempt to avoid any form of dirt or mud. _ ”    
  
Has Mrs. Ingles reported back to you of my great progress in not muddying my skirts, sir? She suggested that it would be less of a burden on the laundry maid were I to avoid walking so far on wetter days and I have attempted to pay heed to it.    
  
I do think, upon serious reflection, that I ought to accept the very next man who asks me to marry him, provided he has sufficient servants to wash my clothes without me having to watch my feet on a walk so very much. The joy of walking is that my head can be elsewhere while my feet simply follow whichever path they wish to lead me on.    
  
I remain, dear sir,   
  
Elizabeth Bennet.


	5. September

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to those of you still reading, we are halfway through with this chapter.

5th September

Dear Sir,  
  
What a very brusque communicator Mr. Briggleswick is! I can quite understand why you went to so great an effort to ensure that five females write to you a month, it must be quite dreadfully dull to only be written to by a man with such a great economy for words. Your note by proxy has been received and read by all of us.  
__  
_The Misses Bennet will refrain from entering into any hasty engagements or alliances during their residency at Grending Cottage._ __  
__  
_Ignatius Z. Briggleswick_ __  
__  
Would you be so good as to explain _why_ you have issued such a decree? We are five females of marriageable age and it has been made clear throughout our entire lives that we must marry and here you have turned everything on its head by suggesting that it is not so very urgent after all. I cannot fathom it out and so I shall not attempt to but surely us marrying swiftly would relieve you of the burden of feeding us? You could then turn your attention on some _other_ needy individuals and be entertained by their monthly goings on. Suffice it to say that we shall obey you and any young man who calls on us will be told to write a letter to a gentleman with no name via an attorney with an excess of one. How odd we shall look! Doubtless, any young man still wishing to court any of us will have showed an admirable persistence in the face of the ridiculous and will be deserving of whichever hand he wishes.  
  
I apologise for my younger sisters, by the by, they are of a great curiosity and have composed a list of every name beginning with ‘Z’ that they can and intend to send it to Mr. Briggleswick with the request that he underline the correct one. I have tried to dissuade them but they are quite determined. If nothing else, they have spent a good deal of time leafing through their Bibles each afternoon for additional names, Reverend Grending, who has been calling each week was quite delighted to see three young women so spiritually inclined. I do hope that it will not offend Mr. Briggleswick, should they send it.

 

18th September  
  
Your parcel, as well as its implied permission, arrived on Saturday last. I was particularly amused by the smock of ginormous proportions. I defy any speck of mud to come near me whilst I am arrayed in it. I do not look especially charming thus, but as Lydia pointed out when I put it on, it hardly matters, at least it is not black. We have two more months of full mourning dress and only Mary and Jane have not felt any impatience to be done with it. It is not sir, that the rest of us do not grieve deeply, but rather that our hearts are full enough of sorrow that a certain colour of gown seems not to quite express it adequately. All it seems to do is remind us each morning when we dress that Mama and Papa are gone. I wonder if I am very wicked in wishing sometimes to forget it, even for an hour or so.  I donned both smock and gloves that Saturday afternoon and made my way into the garden bearing the spade which you so kindly provided. I had a good two hours of the industry before pausing for luncheon and resuming immediately afterwards.  
  
I fear that Mrs. Ingles was obliged to occasionally prevent me from putting an end to a rose bush or two but the exercise put me in good spirits and by the time I made my way into the house for supper, my appetite was very nearly what it was in happier times. I do not at all see why a rose bush, when not in flower, must look so very much like a bramble, it is most unfair.  
  
Lydia will very likely have written to you, complaining of my threat to walk about the country in my delightful new gardening smock but you must not heed her, sir. Even Mary, who does not care for such things as vanity and dresses declared that she would not be seen with me if I dared to leave the boundaries of Grending in such attire so I will refrain.

30th September  
I must tell you of the Meryton news. The regiment, according to Mrs. Collins, will be leaving for Brighton within the next few weeks and is unlikely to return. Mrs. Collins called on us whilst her husband was occupied with estate business and passed on the information. Kitty and Lydia are upset by it of course, but I cannot think it a bad thing that the regiment should be removed from Meryton and that we should be removed from the regiment. I fear that not all officers are so gallant and noble as they are inclined to make out. 

Mrs. Collins kindly offered us the use of the pianoforte at Longbourn, note that I cannot yet bring myself to call it _her_ pianoforte anymore than I could quite bring myself to accept her charitable offer. Somehow, it is easier to accept an entire house from you, a stranger, than to take small yet demeaning kindnesses from one I have known all my life. Mary will very likely lecture me on the evils of pride but I cannot help but think back to Easter when I visited Kent and met a member of the peerage there who very condescendingly made a similar offer to use the instrument in the housekeeper's room. How I laughed then!  
  
Mary, more willing than the rest of us to cross over the threshold of our old home, accepted Charlotte’s offer. Of all of us, she has an urge to be seated at an instrument, I think she is soothed by the methods and order of pressing the keys. She went, for the first time this morning and returned with red eyes and her mouth pressed in a very firm line. It took all of us to convince her to reveal what had her so overset. I supposed that going ‘home’ had been a too much for her but she shook her head at that and disclaimed.  
  
She had gone to Longbourn and was joyfully admitted by Hill, Charlotte is currently supervising the cleaning of the attic rooms and so said that she might have the music room all to herself. Mary played happily for an hour and then, as she always did at home, sifted through the music to examine it and see what she should like to play another time. The silence from the music room must have given the impression that she had left for she overheard Mr. and Mrs. Collins speaking of private matters in the hallway. Short of climbing out of the window, there was no escaping the situation and so my poor sister was obliged to listen as our cousin sermonized to his wife of his very great generosity and how dreadfully proud we Bennets are to have _rejected his offer of a home._ We had, he said, only to have been a little more humble, as befitted our circumstances and he should have taken us in gladly.

Mary quite lost her temper and, exiting the music room, read him a lecture regarding the evils of self-conceit and falsehood. She told Charlotte, who was silent and very red that her husband had written to us quite casting us off and that we had the proof of it in his own hand. She collected her gloves and bonnet from Hill, who stood by, and said that she would not visit this house ever again because her guardian would not at all wish for any of us to be in the company of a man who is so evidently not a gentleman.  
  
Lydia and Kitty made a good deal of fuss over Mary after that, I think she felt quite heroic they way they embraced her and crowed over her cleverness. Jane is quite bewildered that a man who was ordained should be so wicked and entirely unable to reconcile it within herself. Mrs. Ingles, to whom we made Mary tell the whole, said that whilst she did not condone insulting a man under his own roof, she quite understood the provocation and had no intention of scolding her, especially as she had been quite upset enough already.  
  
Having once before, to my shame, accused a man of not behaving like a gentleman, I find that our cousin is far more deserving of the insult--it being one of the worst that a young lady can fling. I only hope, perhaps vainly, that Mr. Collins has sufficient wit to fully understand the severity of what was said to him. It grieves me that Mary, at only nineteen had to rely on herself for defence against a man with all the wealth and position that she no longer has. Surely her situation in life ought to have stirred his compassion and not his contempt.  
  
It is harder than I anticipated, to be reduced in the eyes of Meryton Society, they are not entirely sure what to make of us Bennet ladies now. I do not mean to complain to you, you understand sir, rather I find that you have become the only one I can write to of the mundane trials of life. Perhaps it is because you do not write back to me, I feel that you read my pettishness without judgement and so I dare to offer more and more. To my sisters and Mrs. Ingles, I attempt to be lively, cheerful and brave when they speak of such things but to _you_ , I will be entirely open. You will excuse me, will you not, if I write to you as one writes in a diary?

One cannot be courageous all the time and I so desperately need a friend to confide in, even if that friend does not ever reply to me. I have as much response from you, sir, as when I have laid flowers on my parents grave and babbled away at all the goings on in our lives. The silence is quite deafening.  
  
Yours unhappily,  
  
Elizabeth.  


  



	6. October

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all you readers, commenters, kudos leavers, bookmarkers and subscribers of DNS. Chapter six today, it is a favourite chapter of mine because implied comeuppance is fun ;)
> 
> A03 is currently the only place I am posting what I write, I would be really grateful if you lovely readers would keep your eyes open to it being posted elsewhere and let me know. :) 
> 
> Four more weeks left 'til Christmas Day! I am a fully grown woman but Christmas morning is one of my favourite things still. Hope you enjoy the chapter.

20th October

  
Dear Sir,  
  
I beg that you might forgive the dreadfully sullen tone of my last letter, I regretted it almost as soon as it was parcelled up with my sisters’ notes. Unbeknownst to me, I was clearly in the grip of a depression of spirits that paved the way for a dreadful cold and was feverish for some days. As such, I have little to report for the entire first half of the month as I have been confined to my room on Mrs. Ingles’ orders and force-fed vile concoctions and empty promises that I should soon feel much better. For the space of a week, I had managed to convince Mrs. Ingles that I was not so very poorly but after that Jane and Mary prevailed upon her to send for the apothecary and he prescribed all manner of potions and tinctures for me to complain of.

  
I feel for my poor sisters, they were very anxious lest I had fallen ill with the same dreadful ague that took our parents from us. Jane, I think, felt it keenly and by all accounts fretted most constantly. I shall save up my pennies to buy my sisters’ and Mrs. Ingles iced buns when I feel well enough to walk to Meryton, my sisters at least do so love sweet things. Even my younger sisters tried hard to help in the sick room, although I confess I was not so very pleased with Mary electing to read Psalm Twenty-Three to me-- there is something decidedly unnerving about waking up with a dreadful headache to the sound of a passage of scripture that is so frequently read to the dying. I shall never again hear “lo, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,” without shuddering.  
  
Please excuse the brevity of this epistle, Jane is fluttering nearby like a particularly vigilant shadow, waiting to wrest the pen from my grasp and make me lie down in my bed again.  


Yours weakly,

  
Elizabeth

  


25th October  
  
Dear Sir,  
  
Your delivery of iced buns was joyfully received by the residents of Grending but the delivery of Doctor Hammond was not so sweet.

I do not wish to seem ungrateful, but I cannot at all think the attendance of a doctor necessary once one is feeling largely recovered. I do not deny that he, as medical professionals go, was a very pleasant individual and I admit that I was glad when he forbade me to drink three of the apothecary's remedies but it took a good deal of persuasion for me to see him at all. Jane, in an unprecedented show of angry tears, scolded me quite dreadfully for putting myself at risk on account of ‘sheer pride and mulishness’. Apparently, Papa deliberately delayed sending for a doctor for he and Mama when they both took ill and so for many months now Jane has been burdened with the belief that had he acted sooner, we might yet have our parents.  
  
Naturally, I submitted a little more graciously after that--I do not quite know what I think of such thoughts.  
  
I thank you, sir, not for my sake, but because you have eased the worry of my dear family.  
  
Yours,  
  
Elizabeth  
  


31st October  
  
Dear Sir,  
  
Such a to-do has been had at Grending Cottage this last night! Do note the date sir, I am quite three weeks early, I hope you will not mind receiving three separate letters this month in place of one, the Post Office is likely to be quite delighted with the increase in business.  
  
I was wakeful last night and sleep would not find me, my illness has rather disturbed my habits and I am not yet set to rights. I was lying in my bed sometime after midnight when I was roused from my thoughts by the sound of a scratching noise, far louder than a mouse or a rat and I could not at first decide what on earth would make such a sound. I sat up just as the moon came out from behind a cloud and to my astonishment saw a man attempting to open our bedroom window _from_ _the_ _outside_. I thought that I was imagining things at first and did not cry out, Jane was soundly asleep beside me and did not stir at all. When the intruder swung his leg over the sill, I slid out of bed and crouched in the shadowy corner beside the chest of drawers. Please admire the skill with which I am retelling my tale, sir, I may make an attempt at a novel should you withdraw your patronage from us.  
  
The man did not notice me and crept his way further into the room. For the very life of me, I cannot at all tell you why I did not scream, perhaps I was fearful of waking Jane or some such nonsensical thing. He approached the bed where Jane was sleeping and I, afraid that he meant some terrible violence toward her, reached for the chamber pot beneath the bed and brought it down upon his head with all the force that I could muster up. It is fortunate that the ceiling near the bed is low and he was obliged to stoop or I should not have managed it at all.  
  
The blow was sufficient to both break the pot and render the man unconscious. The thud he made as he fell hard on the floorboards was such that I winced a little and Jane woke up in great confusion.  
  
I do think that my sister is quite the most heroic young lady in existence sir, for she leapt out of bed, lit a candle and said, “Lizzy, you are not hurt are you?” I pointed silently to the man lying face down on the floor. She glanced at him once and repeated her question to me. I answered in a whisper that I was well enough but suggested that we ought, perhaps, to do something about our nighttime visitor. Jane and I decided that he ought to be tied up before he regained his senses and went to the drawer to retrieve one or two sashes long enough to do the job.  
  
I must tell you, my dear nameless stranger, that young ladies are not at all adequately educated. We were severely lacking in the necessary skills to perform the task. Jane tied his wrists too loose and I, his ankles too tight. By the time we were satisfied, the man began to stir and moaned out a word that I will not shock you by divulging. (In truth I could not find it in our dictionary and Mrs. Ingles would not tell me when I asked her this morning.)  
  
He raised his head and Jane near dropped her candlestick in shock. Mr. Wickham, an officer in the regiment stationed in Meryton (and according to a credible source, that I will not reveal, a thoroughly dishonourable man) had for as yet unknown reasons broken into Grending  Cottage.  
  
I stood by, brandishing a poker at him while Jane made haste to fetch Mrs. Ingles. How glad we are, dear sir, that you provided us with such a sensible woman. She, after breathing in a single and quite excusable gasp, knew precisely what needed to be done and sent for Sir William Lucas, who is the magistrate in these parts. He is a kindly man, and came immediately, he ordered Mr. Wickham should be taken off and was quite distressed on our behalf that we should have endured such a fright. I do believe that I was more surprised than afraid but I did not think it polite to mention it to Sir William.  
  
The men who came to collect him and take him to the lock-up were insultingly amused by the delightfully tied bows that Jane and I had finished off our knots with and I am now quite determined that I shall become fast friends with a fisherman when next I have an opportunity to meet one. I understand that seafaring folk are the most accomplished at tying knots.  
  
I wished to apprise you of the happenings, not merely to assist me in getting my thoughts into order, but because Mrs. Ingles suggested that I ought to for, she thought that perhaps you might be persuaded to authorise locks being put on the windows. I do think that Jane at least would rest easier if the house could be securely locked at night but I have no wish to impose on your generosity any more than is absolutely necessary.  
  
I am certain that by the time our next letters are due, we will have further interesting developments to write of.  
  
Yours,  
  
Elizabeth  
  



	7. November

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Monday everyone. It transpires that my maths skills are sadly lacking and I miscounted the weeks 'til Christmas. 
> 
> I will, therefore, post the December letters tomorrow in my normal slot. :)

 

6th November

 

Dear Sir,  
  
What a month we have had! Firstly, George Wickham revealed, under questioning, that he had broken into Grending because he believed that Mama must have left some jewellery to us and rather thought that a house full of females would be an easy target. Sir William called on us last week to communicate all he knew. I cannot at all see why Wickham (forgive me, I do not see that he deserves any sort of honorific) would readily confess to such a thing and so I suppose he must have been under a sort of threat by some men of authority. A search of his lodgings revealed that he had stolen from others in the neighbourhood items to a value that exceeded fifty pounds. Other officers, surprisingly-- for they are ordinarily very loyal to each other-- revealed to Colonel Forester that he owed a great deal of money to tradesmen and in gambling debts within the regiment. He has been taken to London now and according to Sir William Lucas, will almost certainly be deported. The Militia has now gone to Brighton and Captain Denny wrote us a very handsome letter apologising profusely that one of his friends should have comported himself in such a way, Mrs. Ingles is of the opinion that the matter needs no further response than general civility. Amusingly, she remarked that it would not be quite proper for us to write to a single young man and that _she_ ought to do it.  
  
I assume from her lack of horror in having five unmarried females write regularly to _you_ , that you must be either a very elderly philanthropist or a very married one.  
  
Having been writing to an anonymous gentleman for five months now, I confess that it has hereto quite escaped me that you are the first man, who is not related to me, that I have ever written to. I think in my mind you have taken on the role of an avuncular kind of friend. I know that you read these meandering epistles of mine, for you were so good as to send me the smock last September and also the box of chocolates after I had been ill. I do not think I wrote to you of how much we all enjoyed those? The episode with W. occurred and it quite escaped my head. I am much recovered now and the unpleasant fatigue that came with my being on the mend has lifted.

Mrs. Ingles, during my convalescence, has demonstrated a rather marvellous talent for recounting anecdotes, I think she has made good use of her gift in keeping me to my bed. Before she came to Meryton, she was in Ireland, Connacht, and had the charge of the five daughters of a Mrs. O’Gall. The Miss O’Galls, I gather, were of a very rambunctious disposition and rescuing them from the results of their own mischief was a daily task for her. She did not give all of the details, but she did relate to me a very amusing story in which Mr. O’Gall’s most favoured hound was set adrift in a boat on the lake near their home...this poor animal was apparently terrified of water. She assures me that it all came out right in the end but the youngest Miss O’Gall received a sound beating from her Papa for such a prank. I should rather like to meet such a young lady, I think, except that I would not at all wish her to meet Lydia!  
  
Mrs. Ingles' given name is Verity, did you know that? She told me that her Papa had been a rector and her elder twin sisters were named Honour and Sobriety, according to his wishes. Such delightfully whimsical names rather make the ordinary sounding ‘Elizabeth’ seem rather dreary. I must, if I am so blessed with children, dream up something similarly imaginative.

The carpenter has been to Grending this last week and we are now feeling rather more secure than we were. I am unsure if Mr. Briggleswick’s letter suggesting the installation of bars in all of the windows was intended as a jest or not but Lydia was especially outraged by it. We will respectfully decline the offer, I think, in the interests of sisterly harmony and affection. Neither will we accept the kind offer of the hound, sir. My sister Mary cannot tolerate being in the same room as a dog, for some reason or another she sneezes constantly around them. It is to be hoped that we have little to fear by way of further intrusion, for the regiment is now departed and so too is the unlamented Wickham. That is not to say that I shall remove the fire poker from easy reach of my bed, however.

18th November

  
I shall now reveal my second tidbit of news. Netherfield Park is to be occupied once again by the gentleman who was here last year, by the name of Charles Bingley. Rumour has it (and hearsay is often very accurate in Meryton) that he is to come next week with a party of friends.

  
Since you are my friend sir, and as I have not (yet) received scoldings from your secretary for my frankness in these letters, may I unburden myself to you? Last year, Mr. Bingley, his sisters and his brother-in-law came to Meryton--they also brought with them one Mr. Darcy of Derbyshire, who is rumoured to be once again returning with him.  
  
Mr. Bingley engaged the affections of my sister, I shall not say which one, I must strive for _some_ discretion at least, but she was greatly wounded when he and his sisters entirely dropped the acquaintance by the end of the winter. I worry for her greatly, she will not like a man she so admired and cared for to see her in reduced circumstances (your kindness notwithstanding, we are not the Miss Bennets of Longbourn any longer). The sisters will be the worst of all I fear-- if they were unkind before they have far more ammunition now. At least we have nearly a month left of isolation, even then I do not know that we will attend assemblies and parties as we once did.  
  
I am also the greatest coward on earth, I used to be so very brave and heedless. I do not wish to encounter Mr. Darcy again.  
  
I must elaborate on that, must I not? The pair of us did not always see eye-to-eye and in April we had something of an altercation whilst I was in Kent. I hurled insults at his head and I am now heartily ashamed of myself for them. Most of them were exaggerations of imagined faults and some of them were made up entirely of false reports. I had the truth confirmed to me later on, I shan’t say how, and I felt so very ignorant and foolish. He was very angry with me and I do not know at all how to act. If I was beneath his notice before, I am sunk beyond anything now. I believe I dread being the subject of his pity more than anything, should he be disdainful and aloof I should find it easier, I think.  
  
_There_! I have confessed to you now, my dear nameless confidant. Shall you burn my letter in disgust, knowing that I am a thoughtless coward who goes about arguing with honourable gentlemen?  
  
Mama would urge me to flutter my eyelashes at him, beg his pardon for having had opinions at all--never mind wrong ones-- and cast myself on his mercy. Papa would find great enjoyment in watching me squirm.  
  
Oh dear! On the one hand, I know very well that I owe him an apology, on the other I would rather hide in a ditch than subject my sister or myself to either of the gentlemen. Perhaps when I come out of full mourning (Lydia will doubtless be describing her efforts with an entire bolt of lavender cloth in her letter) I shall just slip on my gardening smock and leap into the hedgerow whenever I see a horse and very tall rider approaching. I shall be sure to take a bun or two with me, however, for Mama was always in a great anxiety that we should one day starve in such a location.  
  
Winter has set in strongly here, gone are the pleasant hours in the garden and wandering about the countryside. We have confined ourselves to the sitting room at the back of the house and have banked the fire up high with coals. Mary has been reading Bunyan aloud to us of an evening and shows great improvement.  
  
Your distressed friend,  
  
Elizabeth


	8. December

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that I posted an extra chapter yesterday so if you haven't yet read that--go back and have a look through that first.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

4th December  
  
Dear Sir,   
    
Please accept each of these handkerchiefs from us as a yuletide gift. We had wanted to fashion you a very bright and cheerful pair of slippers to wear as you warmed yourself by the fire of a winter's evening but could think of no way to find out the size of your feet nor your preferences. The red one with the white roses embroidered on it is mine, I do hope it will be your favourite, for all that Jane and Kitty are far more accomplished at embroidery than I, I do not think that they can have put in anywhere near so much effort as I, seeing as it comes to them so naturally.   
  
We have put off our blacks by mutual decision and, bundled up in our thickest of coats walked one evening to Mrs. Goulding’s house, she was hosting a quiet card party--although we did not play, it was pleasant to sit with old friends and Mary was almost wild with delight at being to spend an entire evening at a pianoforte. The Collinses were not invited. I do not know how, but news of Mr. Collins’ unchristian attitude has got around Meryton and even Sir William will not have him at the Lodge until he has apologised properly and publicly! Charlotte, poor thing, is tolerated but by all accounts, even she is receiving a very cold reception at present.   
  
It may interest you to know that the Netherfield party has indeed returned, Mr. Bingley, Mrs. Hurst and her husband-- also Mr. Darcy and his sister have come to spend the winter in Hertfordshire. We saw them at Church but we only spoke to Mrs. Hurst for the gentlemen were too occupied with the good Reverend. I cannot say whether or not I am relieved or indignant on my sister’s behalf. I am unreasonable (and I own it) for she says herself that she has no claim on him. I have observed on a previous occasion that Mrs. Hurst, when she wishes to please becomes an almost engaging conversationalist but I was almost surprised when she greeted Mrs. Ingles respectfully and offered her condolences to us on the loss of our parents. Mrs. Hurst remarked that it had been a very hard thing for her when her Mama had passed away suddenly and seemed more sincere than I have ever known her to be. Poor Kitty began weeping when Mrs. Hurst was trying to be kind, she said afterwards that she could not help but think how much had changed for us all in a single year. She is right.   
  
I confess to a great curiosity about Miss Darcy, I do not think her very old, certainly not any older than Lydia but there is a womanliness about her that is at odds with her youthful face. She is a very handsome young woman, which is not entirely unexpected given that her brother is likewise blessed, but she appears to be very timid and shy. She did not leave her brother’s arm the whole time he was speaking to Mr. Grending but instead darted glances here and there like a very cautious rabbit emerging from its burrow. There was something very touching in the solicitous manner with which her brother saw to her comfort, I thought. One can tell a great deal about the character of a man in his treatment of a dependent. If Mr. Darcy permits the acquaintance I shall see what I can do to draw her out a little.

  
  
10th December 

Your gift to us all has arrived this afternoon, just as the light was fading to dusk outside, and it been installed in the little recess in our parlour. Mary nearly wept with delight and could scarcely wait for the men to put it into position before a chair was dragged over and she was sat down in front of it.   
  
She sat down and laid her fingers on the keys and with a half smile that reminded me so much of Papa, looked wryly at Kitty and Lydia. It is a testament to how much things have changed for us that Lydia did not groan at the possibility of scales being played each morning and Kitty did not immediately demand a jig. The first tune to be played on our new instrument was a lively air from Ireland, Mary did not even need to be asked for it. Kitty and Lydia giggled and moved the furniture about so that there was space in the centre as Mrs. Ingles looked on with raised eyebrows. Jane and I laughed too and making our bows begged the young ladies for the honour of the next dance.   
  
I am a little undersized to make a _very_ convincing a gentleman but I do think I acquitted myself more creditably than Jane, who kept on trying to take Kitty’s steps and forgetting her role. Lydia and I danced two reels together and then we exchanged partners.   
  
Mrs. Ingles civilly declined my request for a dance, after which insult she was obliged to sit out for the whole of the party, a consequence she accepted with equanimity.  After we were quite done with our fun and Mary rose from her place, Mrs. Ingles--who plays _very_ well-- seated herself and we sang ‘Hark the Herald Angels Sing’ without a care in the world that we were prodigiously early in the singing of it.   


With all my heart, I thank you.   


  
14th December

  
Well, since writing the above all that I dreaded earlier in the month has come to pass. Mr. Bingley, the Hursts and the Darcy siblings called on us at Grending Cottage. It _might_ have gone rather better than it did except that Kitty had taken it into her head this very morning that the permanently locked bureau in the hallway must _surely_ contain some dreadfully mysterious thing that she simply _must_ see. She wove, with great enthusiasm, if little realism, a story of smugglers--possibly pirates-- who may have used an abandoned rectory in Hertfordshire (!) as a base for their nefarious deeds and likely left behind a confession but locked it in an ugly bureau for the sake of safety. Lydia, who was altogether _too_ willing to force the lock, stole my very best set of hairpins to try her hand at lock picking, leaving me quite unable to put my hair up as by the time she conceded defeat they were all sadly bent. She lacks in persistence I fear, for when I urged her that she might have more success with her own hairpins she said that she could not boast in the accomplishment of opening closed locks.  Mary, who had been drawn into the hallway on account of all of the noise, suggested that the only way to do it would be to prise it open with something long and slim. I felt, in my role as the eldest present, that I ought to ensure that nothing else was damaged and so went with them into the kitchen to hunt for something suitable.   
  
We came from thence with the handle of an old frying pan that Bessie gave us-- she is Lydia’s age and she looked very much as though she wished she could join in the fun.   
  
It was just when the wood splintered on the hinge side of the opening that Mrs. Ingles and Jane returned from their shopping trip to Mannings, followed, if you please, by the _entire_ Netherfield party.   
  
I felt utterly mortified, as you may imagine. I am not yet even recovered enough to see the humour in the situation. There I was, stood with my hair down my back trying to assist Mary and Kitty in the opening of the wretched thing with our fingers whilst Lydia stood by wielding her frying-pan handle and it was _very_ uncomfortable being under observation by our neighbours.   
  
There was a crushingly awkward silence as no one could quite decide what to say. Mr. Bingley, who may marry my sister with my blessing, at _any_ time he chooses, came to our rescue.   
  
“Trying to get the thing open are you, Miss Lydia? I quite sympathise, we used to have an armoire in our childhood home with a drawer in the bottom that would forever be sticking when I most needed it to open. Shall I assist you?”   
  
Mrs. Ingles, with a very severe frown at us, thanked him civilly but suggested that after such a cold walk, they must surely be in need of some hot tea and raised her eyebrows significantly at me to fetch it. I was never more glad of any excuse to retreat. Bessie put my hair up in a trice, having in her apron pocket a handful of pins and by the time I returned, laden with the tea tray, I felt a little more ready to face our guests.   
  
Alas, Mr. Bingley and Mr. Hurst had successfully convinced Kitty to regale them all with her suppositions regarding the reason the bureau was locked and even Miss Darcy’s interest was engaged. I could not tell if Mr. Darcy was pleased or not, but he stood when I came in and relieved me of the tea tray in a very kind manner. I was still very embarrassed that he might think us a houseful of hoydens and so could only muster up a word of thanks and half of a smile.   
  
They all stayed for the required quarter of an hour, ate a great many of Bessie’s ginger biscuits and promised to call again soon. Mr. Bingley’s boyish interest quite endeared him yet further to my sister I feel, for she said afterwards that she greatly admired his ease of manner that made him such a very entertaining visitor.   
  
Mrs. Ingles half-scolded and half-laughed at us for our mornings' work and by the time we had completed the additional tasks that she set us to do, we had quite forgotten that we never got to look inside the cabinet after all that effort of getting in.   
  
Lydia remembered at bedtime and we crept back downstairs in our nightgowns to discover its secrets. You are, I hope, far too kind and generous a personality to laugh at our expense when I tell you that all that was contained therein was a stack of old grocery lists for a very large family.   
  
Yours in sincere mortification,

 

Elizabeth  



	9. January

  
  
2nd January   
  
Dear Sir,   
  
It cannot be so cold where you are as it is in Hertfordshire, I am entirely convinced of it. The water wheel at the mill cannot move, so thick is the ice on the river. The local children have been walking up and down on the frozen water and sliding along in great glee. Were it not for the fact that Mr. Darcy was witness to my last childish exploit, I might be sorely tempted to join them. I am almost sure that he should happen upon me just at the wrong moment and so I shall refrain.   
  
Whatever that gentleman thought of us at Grending the first morning they surprised us, it does not appear to have put them off from calling. Mr. Darcy has even brought his sister to visit us again--she was terribly amused that we only found shopping lists and no treasure maps or dire criminal confessions, she has a delightful laugh and looks far more her age when she giggles along with my sisters than when she is grave and silent on her brother’s arm.   
  
Mrs. Ingles has clearly made herself a resolution to walk out more often of recent, for she has volunteered to bear your letters from us to the Post Office. She took them last month and means to do so again. She will not find any of us clamouring for the task in this frigid weather. I mean no disrespect to the lady but I have been wondering if perhaps there is a gentleman in Meryton that she likes to see--we will let her alone I think. I am very fond of her, she came last week from a walk bearing me a new packet of very fine hairpins, I have never seen the like of them in Meryton and wondered if she had ordered them from London, I was greatly touched by such thoughtfulness and mean to lock them away so that Lydia cannot go near them.   
  
19th January   
  
We had thought, last Sunday, that we should be obliged to miss church in the morning, a happening that would not at all sit well with Jane, but the snow had drifted up against the door of the house and it took the combined efforts of Bessie and me to free us so far as the path. I was clad, if you please, in my smock and doing very well indeed with my trusty spade that you provided. I may say that I was warmer during the exercise than I have been since the temperature has turned so bitter. Bessie returned indoors after a while to lay more fires and thus when John Goulding, who has returned from Oxford for the Christmas holidays, came riding down the road, it _looked_ as though I had singlehandedly been very industrious indeed.   
  
He has grown up a good deal, I have not seen him much of recent but I do recall that when he went away he was still a gangling youth with a merry smile and hair that would never remain tidy for more than a few minutes at a time. I was glad to see him and laughed when he complimented me on my beautiful dress. Even if he has grown out of the awkwardness of having limbs too long for his body, he is still the same charming boy within. I haven’t felt so much like Lizzy Bennet in an age. He took the spade off me and bade me hold his horse, a sweet little blonde mare that he called Jenny. I asked him if he had named her after my eldest sister-- he laughed and disclaimed. He made short work of clearing the path to the gate and I asked if he would like to come in to warm himself after his charitable deed but Mrs. Ingles appeared in the doorway then and, not knowing her so well as we do, he was intimidated into tipping his hat to us and bidding us a good day. Before he rode off, he said that if we were to be at the assembly in a few weeks time he should very much like to dance the first with me. I gave him a very grand curtsey and thanked him kindly, he laughed again at that and said I had better save my airs and graces for a ballgown.   
  
Mrs. Ingles, who did not quite understand that we have known the Gouldings for an age said a decidedly cool good morning to him and ushered me along to dress for church. We found that we were able to walk in the carriage tracks so far as the church gates and that Mr. Grending had commanded his six sons to get the path up to the doors clear for the chilly worshippers to get inside.   
  
The Netherfield party were the last to arrive and only just made it in time for the first hymn to be sung, I suppose that they had difficulty with the snow too, Netherfield having a rather longer driveway to be cleared than any other property in the vicinity.   
  
Churches were clearly not designed with warmth in mind, would it be so very terrible, I wonder, to lay a carpet or two and light a few fires within? Our very breath was visible and I am _sure_ that Lydia was making some sort of sport of it by seeing how long a plume she could blow out from her mouth during prayers.   
  
After the service, Mr. Bingley made his way to us and remarked ruefully at their lateness. He said that his friend Mr. Darcy had been irritated with him for not having thought of giving orders for the driveway to be cleared until morning. Jane, ever generous, smiled at Mr. Bingley and said that she could not remember a winter so harsh in Hertfordshire and so Mr. Bingley must surely be forgiven for having been caught unawares. Mr. Darcy came over then and hearing this, said dryly that it was a very good thing that his friend had not taken a house in Derbyshire for he should be quite decidedly backslidden by the end of a winter there as he would likely miss every service there was and shock the local gentry with his heathenish ways.   
  
Mr. Bingley made us all laugh then by quipping that he had thought that in Derbyshire, Mr. Darcy _was_ the local gentry.   
  
I asked Mr. Darcy if he ought not to consider the installation of fireplaces in the local church, feeling a great deal of pity for the parishioners further north than us, and he nodded gravely and promised to investigate it. I do believe that he will, for he is such a serious man and does not waste breath on nonsensical fripperies. John Goulding interrupted us when we were in conversation and called out a cheery “Hallo, Miss Lizzy-- I see you have changed your dress...what a pity, I preferred the one this morning.” I do not think Mr. Darcy approved of the familiarity for he looked stern and I attempted to explain the situation. I don’t think I did very well for instantly he took exception to my having cleared the path at all. I felt embarrassed again then and was not sure what to say. Perhaps I ought to have argued, and said that it was none of his affair _how_ we Bennet ladies manage to make our way out of our own front garden, but as I still have not apologised to the man for our last argument, I felt it best not to add another. I stood in awkward silence wishing myself away for a moment or two and then he spoke more kindly. He asked leave to send a manservant of Bingley’s to Grending Cottage so that I might be spared the hardship. Was that not civil of him? I do not know from one moment to the next whether or not he will be cold and distant or very kind and generous but given how sore my hands were I thanked him and said that he might.   
  
Mr. Bingley took us home in his carriage to Grending, which pleased my sister immensely. I do hope he is in earnest this time, for she should be so sorely grieved if he abandoned her on a second occasion. It is clear how much he favours her, everytime he tries to do something neighbourly for all of us, he sends a little glance across to her in the hopes that she has noticed and is pleased. She nearly always does.   
  
Kitty just poked her head around my door and asked me the oddest question! She asked me if I had noticed that Mr. Darcy had found it necessary to blow his nose twice during Church this morning and if I did not think he must have a cold. She is an imaginative girl sometimes! I said that I had not observed it and that she was very unusual for having thought it worthy of comment. She has gone away again now looking mysterious, doubtless, the poor gentleman will now be cast into her mind as some sort of nefarious individual for daring to take out his handkerchief in the presence of the vicar.   
  
I must end, I do trust, dear sir, that you are warmly wrapped up in front of a fire. I am swathed in at least twenty shawls, I am sure of it.   
  
Yours with freezing fingertips,   
  
Elizabeth.   
  



	10. February

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good Morning and a very Happy Christmas Day to you all. 
> 
> Yay Presents!
> 
> Yay Turkey!
> 
> Yay Family Time! 
> 
> :D
> 
> I would like to thank everyone who has left kudos, a comment or bookmarked this fic. The kindness of you all is such a lovely thing and I am so glad I plucked up the courage last year to post a story. 
> 
> Today is a special day to me because Christmas holds a special place in my heart--the gift of Christ has had an unquantifiable impact on the course of my life. While my Christmas gift to you is considerably less life-changing, I hope it raises a smile an a few minutes of joy. 
> 
> Sorry it's not wrapped!

 

1st February   
  
Dear Sir,  
  
I hardly know what to write to you for I do not know which way is up at present. I am in dire need of your compassion. I wish to confide in Mrs. Ingles, she has been so mysterious these last weeks and my sisters have enough of their own concerns to deal with.   
  
I do not think I knew my own heart until yesterday and now that I do I am entirely miserable and wretched. I may as well tell you that in April Mr. Darcy asked me to marry him and _that_ was what we argued about so dreadfully, I sent him off very unkindly for I believed all manner of lies about him and I was so very wrong in so many ways. I think he is a very fine man and I cannot think of anything better than to be his wife but I fear it is all too late!  
  
I am very much afraid that I have quite driven him away and that now he has turned his attentions on _Kitty_! I had been so hopeful, things had been getting easier, you know, between us and I even managed to apologise for my unladylike conduct at Easter when he called with his sister on Friday. He smiled at me then, he has a very handsome face you know-- but it is rendered utterly beautiful when he smiles--and asked me if I would dance the first with him at the assembly on Saturday and I _truly_ would have except that I had _already_ promised John Goulding. I was going to regretfully say as much when Lydia interrupted and sung out that John Goulding was all grown up into a very handsome man and she was quite envious that I had caught his fancy. I have never wished so much that I could have boxed someone's ears. Mr. Darcy probably thinks that I favour John Goulding and I don’t! He is a boy, pleasant enough and engaging but it seems I that prefer taciturn gentlemen from Derbyshire who cause me no end of confusion.    
  
What made it worse then was that Kitty asked Mr. Darcy after his cold and asked him if he was feeling any better. She said that she could not help noticing last month that he had been obliged to blow his nose in Church. She also remarked that Mrs. Ingles was not quite feeling the thing either for she happened to see her in town when she had said she would take the letters to the Post Office and she had walked directly past it. Mr. Darcy did not appear to find this line of conversation as bizarre as I, for he immediately asked her to dance the first set with him at the assembly and she _accepted_. _My_ Mr. Darcy, for _my_ dances.   
  
I have never been more miserable at an assembly, I watched the pair of them throughout the first dance and they were very deep in conversation. I was distressed enough by it that by the time Mr. Darcy and I stood up for the second set I could barely bring myself to look at him let alone be lively or encouraging. I think he thought I had resumed my old dislike of him after that, for he apologised to me for having made me uncomfortable with his presence and promised that he would not importune me again. I dumbly watched him bow and walk away from me, feeling like a little fool. I found Mrs. Ingles soon after and begged off the rest of the evening--she saw that I was fighting back tears and did not pry. I returned home to Grending and sobbed like a silly miss for at least a half hour,   
  
May I see you? I am sure I could find some way of getting to London, or wherever you are if only you said that I might. If you will not see me then I must go anyway and attempt to find Mr. Briggleswick. I so much wish that Papa was here or Mama, _he_ would pat me on the head and tell me that I am a clever girl and that I will think of something and Mama would be only too delighted to advise me on the best way to persuade Mr. Darcy that he _cannot_ go making young ladies fall in love with him and then suddenly transferring interest to her sister. It is simply not _done_.  
  
_Please_ say I might come and see you, it feels that you may be the only man alive that cares what may become of me now. If all comes to nought I will simply inflict myself on you and take care of you in your old age. I am a very good reader and quite willing to warm your slippers for you and I would assuredly make sure your servants do not cheat you.   
  
Yours,   
  
Elizabeth.  
  
  
7th February  
  
Dear Nameless Stranger,   
  
How relieved I was to receive your note so swiftly! Yes, of _course_ I can meet you on Oakham Mount on Tuesday. I know the two elm trees you speak of very well. I had no idea that you might be in Hertfordshire all along-- how funny I must have seemed to you to have assumed you were in London for these long seven months or so. I will be there, you may depend on it.  
  
Yours,   
  
Lizzy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes-- I know its short and cliffie-ish. Go read the ending!


	11. Epilogue

 

Epilogue

  
Tuesday morning arrived and Elizabeth Bennet, dressed warmly and with great curiosity, left the garden of Grending Cottage with a certain spring in her step. It took her a little over half an hour of swift walking to reach the spot that had been agreed upon. She walked familiar pathways without faltering and at length reached the two elm trees that stood apart from the others at the highest point of Oakham Mount.   
  
Her heart beat a little faster when she saw that a man was there before her, sat upon a rock with his back to her, he was watching the cloud shadows play across the foothills beneath them. The sunshine was strong and the rays shone toward her face so she could not make out at first whether he was large or small, stooped or straight. She stepped on a twig and the man rose slowly. He wore a dark greatcoat, a black brimmed hat and was very tall. His shadow stretched out long toward her on the frosted ground and almost reached the toes of her boots.   
  
“Sir?” she said, breathless.    
  
He did not turn around but bent his head to look at something in his hands. Elizabeth stepped sideways, out of the way of the light that was dazzling her eyes. She saw his face at the same moment he spoke, in a cultured, familiar voice.    
  
“I have both wished for and dreaded this moment. I knew that it must come but had thought that it might not be so soon as this.”   
  
Elizabeth gasped and raised both her gloved hands to her mouth, her eyes were wide in shock. Mr. Darcy did not attempt to approach her, merely rose from his rock, remained beside it and regarded her steadily.   
  
“Dearest,  _ loveliest _ , Elizabeth,” he said, after another moment, “could you not guess that  _ I _ was your nameless stranger?”   
  
Deeply shocked,  Lizzy shook her head and falteringly lowered shaking hands away from her face.    
  
Mr. Darcy grimaced and glancing down once more at the letter in his hand put it safely in his pocket, “will you not speak to me? Even if I must bear your anger at my deceit I think I should rather that than your silence.”   
  
Elizabeth heaved a breath that turned into a laugh at the very end. She did not know why, for she did not in the least feel like laughing, the sound just slipped out in her shock.    
  
“It is very... _ hard _ to keep up a conversation, I have found... when there is no reply,” she said in a trembling voice that did not belong to her at all.    
  
“Elizabeth do not cry, throw something at my head if you must, but do not weep,” entreated Mr. Darcy, taking a step toward her before checking himself and remaining still again.    
  
“Am I? I had not realised,” she answered and wiped at her cheek, sure enough, her glove was wet when she brought it away. She gathered her wits, “I have no chamberpot on hand and that is my favoured weapon at present, so we shall just have to be conventional and speak to one another.”   
  
Some of the tension left Mr. Darcy’s shoulders and he bowed before stepping aside, “Will you share my rock, Miss Bennet?” he gestured politely toward it with the fluid grace that she had admired in him, even when she had hated him.   
  
Elizabeth nodded and sat, before gesturing to him that he might sit beside her. He did so, careful not to take up more of the flat surface that was allocated to him.   
  
“I had wanted to ask, ever since you wrote to me of your... _ incident _ ...with Mr. Wickham,” there was something emphatically biting about the way he spoke that name, “whether or not the chamberpot was empty.”   
  
Elizabeth let out a short laugh and shook her head. “Come now, Mr. Darcy, do let us be fair about all of this,  _ my _ curiosity has been left unsatisfied for far longer than  _ yours _ and it must be quenched. What made you do such an...extraordinary thing as you have done, sir?”   
  
He examined the shine on the toe of his boot for a moment before answering with a sigh, “That is a hard question to answer, I did not even give a reason to myself even as I was arranging it with Briggs. The truth is that I was still very much in love with you when my Aunt wrote to me of your parent’s deaths and having read of her  _ diabolical _ advice to Collins that he need not do his duty by you, I felt I must intervene. I...could not bear to think of you struggling each day for food or any necessity when I would have given you everything you ever asked for if you had accepted me in Kent.”

Elizabeth was silent but found it necessary to wipe her face again. She did not insult him by asking why he had not simply ridden over and demanded that she reconsider her rejection, there was little doubt that she would have had to accept him in those awful days after Mr. Collins’ letter. He had not wished to force her hand in any way.   
  
“I think that you may be the best man I have ever known,” she said, quietly.   
  
He huffed a laugh, disbelieving.    
  
“I had stipulated that I wanted letters from you because I wanted some part of you that no one else did, I  _ needed _ to know if you were well and if there was anything that I could materially provide that you were in want of. I  _ thought _ it would comfort me, to see from your own hand that you were well.”   
  
“Did it not?” she asked, made curious by his sharp tone of self-derision.   
  
Again that huffed laughter, “ _ Elizabeth _ , it was agony. Every little particle of sorrow that you shared, that I could not offer comfort for, every time you tried to be brave for your sisters because I...not to mention that dreadful letter I had from you that you had been ill. I had ordered my horse to be made ready so that I could come to Grending and  _ bully _ you into taking better care of yourself. You ought to read the account of your illness from your sisters’ hands, by the way, it is quite,  _ quite _ harrowing.”   
  
“I had not thought of that,” she said, “perhaps your advantage over me was not so great after all.”    
  
“I cannot allow that, your first letter in February made me feel like the greatest cad imaginable. I realised that I had to make an end of all this then, it is not at all fair to read of a young ladies feelings for you before she has chosen to speak them.”   
  
Elizabeth nodded at this and blushed.    
  
“Your sister Catherine, by the by,” he said, as she turned from pink to deep red, “is a little more astute than you gave her credit for. I do not deny that some of her suppositions were far off the mark but she saw me take out the handkerchief that Sunday that she herself had embroidered. She later followed Mrs. Ingles to the post office and saw her hand the letters directly to me and had her suspicions confirmed.”   
  
“Oh!” exclaimed Elizabeth, “how clever she is, I had not realised...I thought...”   
  
“Yes,” said Mr. Darcy, “I know what you thought, nonsensical girl! As though any sensible man could fall out of love with you, even if he wished to.”    
  
“Oh,” said Elizabeth, again and she reached for his hand. “Will you permit me to thank you now? Expressions of gratitude cannot be utterly forbidden forever, can they? You rescued us and without any thought of return nor with any intention to hold such charity over us. It meant that we were able to stay together and grieve rather than worry about a roof over our heads or having enough to eat. We cannot ever repay you for that.”   
  
“Elizabeth,” said Mr. Darcy, rather sharply, “I am going to ask you to marry me again and  _ if _ you say yes, I do not want it to be from any sacrificial notions of repayment for anything, I’d rather see you marry that Goulding boy. It is partially the reason why I wished for you never to know...in April, you rightly refused me with all the courage in the world, even when I was angry I admired it. I never wish for you to feel cowed or obliged into an acceptance of  _ anything _ you do not want.”   
  
The young lady holding his hand tilted her head, “ _ You _ may rather it, but I shouldn’t. I do not  _ want _ to marry John Goulding.  _ Should _ you ask me to marry you again, Mr. Darcy, my answer will be based on my own inclinations and the likelihood of our own future happiness.”   
  
A smile hovered about his mouth then and he covered their joined hands with his other one. It was cold out on the mount that morning, there was no denying it, but her fingers felt warmed by his.   
  
“Miss Bennet, would you grant me the right to ensure your wellbeing, and that of your sisters for the rest of our lives?”   
  
“Certainly, Mr. Darcy,” she responded promptly, “you may have my heart also, have you any use for it?”

“Abundant use, Elizabeth,” he answered quietly. “I will care for it as tenderly as you must care for mine.” They sat companionably for a little while, thinking that not much more needed to be said. Eventually, Mr. Darcy spoke again. “You cannot imagine how relieved I am, I had quite decided that you would be so furious with me that I should have to spend the next ten years begging your pardon.”   
  
Lizzy leaned a little to the side and rested her head on Mr. Darcy’s shoulder, it felt pleasant and right to do so. Mr. Darcy’s arm came immediately about her waist and she felt warmed despite the chilling wind that blew about them.   
  
“I ought to take you back to Grending, it is cold,” he murmured, yet he did not disrupt their comfortable position.    
  
Smiling, Lizzy closed her eyes for a moment before admitting that her toes were now quite numb. She wished that she had not as soon as she spoke for he stood then and urged her to her feet.    
  
“Come along then,” he said, decisively, “I shall start as I mean to continue in my taking care of you, Miss Bennet, let us return to civilisation and a warm fire.”   
  
The fire sounded pleasant, certainly. “I am to warm your slippers for you, and read aloud to you of an evening, am I not Mr. Darcy? I did say that I would inflict myself on you and do so...oh, in a recent letter, I cannot remember all I have said. I do hope I did not make myself ridiculous with all my whimsy.”   
  
“Oh no,” he said, holding her carefully as they negotiated a narrow part of the path, “your letters are charming, I leapt on them each month when the parcel arrived.”   
  
“Shall my sisters still write to you, I wonder? It is a good exercise, I found it a helpful thing to summarise each month and attempt to present it more cheerfully than I had felt at the time.”   
  
“They may, naturally, I have come to enjoy their letters also...at first, I only reached for yours and then read the others to see what further news could be gleaned of  _ you _ . After a few months, I learnt to appreciate them as I should have from the beginning. I enjoyed your eldest sisters letters especially, she wrote often of your daily efforts to do something kind for everyone at the Cottage--much of which you omitted to tell me. Miss Mary’s accounts are often very well crafted...you ought to ask her what  _ else _ she said to Mr. Collins, that day at Longbourn, by the by.”   
  
“Oh? Do tell me, you ought not to keep secrets from your wife, sir!”    
  
He stopped in his tracks at this and his face was alight with heartfelt delight. Elizabeth observed that such happiness suited him. She wished that he might always be so.   
  
“It is a happy thought, Elizabeth.” He resumed walking. “We may marry soon, may we not? It will mean that I ride to London and leave you for a few days, which I do not like to do but I when I must leave for Derbyshire I must take you with me.”    
  
Elizabeth nodded, “It will be hard to leave my sisters, but it would be harder still to be apart from you.”

“But surely when we are married they will come with us!” said Mr. Darcy, “Pemberley is large enough and Georgiana, once she has become more used to them, will enjoy their company immensely.”    
  
Mr. Darcy found an insistent hand tugging at his, preventing his going any further. He turned on the path to find Elizabeth smiling through her tears.    
  
“Mr. Darcy, would you have the goodness to bend down a little?”    
  
Unsurprisingly, he obliged and found himself amply rewarded by a shy kiss to his cheek.    
  
“Elizabeth, your nose is cold.” 

“Nevermind that,” she said, “you have quite distracted me from what I wished to know. What else did Mary say to Mr. Collins? Was it so very shocking?”   
  
They were now walking along the lane towards Grending Cottage, Elizabeth saw one or two townsfolk milling about and laughed when they looked astonished at the sight of her walking side by side with Mr. Darcy. The pair of them made their way along the low wall that made up the border of Elizabeth’s home.   
  
“Very shocking,” he said soberly, his habitual seriousness seemed to be returning the further they came to the town. “She told him that he was ‘precisely the kind of oafish boor that would eat his peas from a knife’ and that he could inherit ‘a hundred estates but would never,  _ ever _ be a gentleman.’”   
  
They approached the front door of Grending Cottage. From within, Elizabeth could hear the hubbub of noise, a sound that made her smile-- it had been far too silent, many months ago before they left Longbourn. Mr. Darcy paused as she was about to enter and she looked back at him. She was eager to share her news and all that she now knew. He raised her fingers to his lips and looked into her eyes.    
  
“Remind me, my love, that I must never quarrel with Miss Mary-- I do not doubt that she would tear my character to shreds as readily as  _ you _ did, that day in Hunsford.”   
  
They entered the cottage together, arm in arm, and Elizabeth’s merry laughter echoed out into the street for a moment before the heavy green door was shut firmly behind them.   
  
  
  



End file.
